Gypsy Angel
by Saturdaychick
Summary: <html><head></head>In which Erik makes a decision.</html>


**Gypsy Angel**

There was still too much daylight for his liking, as Erik made his way to town, staying to the shadows and with the hood of his cloak hiding his features. He never would have exposed himself to this degree, but it was Christine's birthday, tomorrow and he wanted to surprise her by filling her dressing room with 100 red roses tied with black ribbon. He smiled to himself at the image he was conjuring of her delighted face on finding his gift. She had consented to be his and after all the fear and despair of losing her to that aristocratic simp, Raoul, he still could not believe it when she told him she had chosen him, the Opera Ghost, the Phantom of the Opera, the former hired assassin, instead.

"My angel, you shall have anything you want," he said to himself, "Operas written in your name. Symphonies… gypsy music?" What's this? He paused beside a stone building and listened. The song he was hearing brought back memories he had long suppressed, or tried to anyway. It was being sung by a voice so pure and clear, he felt drawn to see who it belonged to.

There was a crowd, and he blended in and made his way, silently to the front. He could not believe his eyes, or his ears, for that bell like voice emanated from a small, scraggly gypsy boy, about 10 years old. The boy was dressed in rags, and the cap at his feet held a few coins, but not much. Erik was intrigued.  
>He moved to the edge of the crowd and watched, leaning against a huge elm, arms crossed. It was almost too much. When he was a child, just the age of this one, he was sold by his so called mother into servitude to a gypsy master who was so horrid and cruel and who imprisoned him in a cage and charged people to see his unmasked face. When he learned that Erik was in possession of one of the most beautiful voices that he or anyone anywhere had ever heard, he would beat him until he consented to sing before the crowds. One night, the master was careless and allowed Erik some freedom. It was the last move he ever made, as Erik used a rope he had fashioned into an early form of the Punjab lasso to put an end to the cruelty and escape into the night and on to adventures and feats most people only read in books or dreamed about. He became a master architect, a magician, able to hypnotize people with his sensuous voice, an assassin for the Sultan's court of Mazanderan, and a musician and composer of brilliant works that no one, except, now, Christine, had ever heard before.<p>

When the song had ended, the crowd moved on, each to its own destination, leaving Erik, in the shadow of the tree, and the small boy. The child looked at his cap, and the coins it contained. His face looked worried. "Hmmm", Erik thought to himself. "I wonder…?"

The boy slowly turned and made his way out of the park and keeping some distance, Erik followed. Eventually, they came to a clearing on a hillside, and there, was a small gypsy encampment. Erik, still keeping to the shadows, watched and waited. The boy paused at a wagon, a large grey draft horse, grazed nearby. A man came down the steps and stood in the boy's path.  
>"So, what have you brought me" he demanded, and Erik bristled at the tone. The boy held out the coins. The man grabbed them and counted them. Then he spat on the ground. "You call this an offering? This is nothing, you useless brat!" he smacked the boy to the ground, and was about to level a kick at him with his huge boot, when he choked and gasped" "Not so fast, monsieur" Erik whispered into the man's filthy ear, the Punjab lasso around his throat, "you treat a child worse than you would treat an animal. Children have feelings, you know. And they remember when they suffer at the hands of brutes like you…" and he pulled the gypsy into the shadows as the boy frozen to the spot where he'd been thrown, waiting for more abuse, but there was only the silence of the falling night and stars above him. Then a black gloved hand reached for him and frightened, he almost cried out, but a beautiful voice whispered to him, "Fear no more, boy. Your wretched past will soon be behind you. Come with me" and the boy, almost mesmerized by the voice which came from a tall, hooded figure before him, did as he was asked.<p>

When Erik, the roses forgotten for the moment, had the boy before him in his home 5 cellars beneath the Paris Opera House, he removed his cloak. The boy stared at the mask, but said nothing. "I will not harm you, boy, nor will anyone, ever again, not if I have anything to say about it."  
>The boy continued staring, not moving from the spot where Erik had released him.<br>"Eduardo… did you kill him?" he finally asked in a small voice.  
>"Let's just say that he won't be bullying or abusing any other unfortunate children or animals anytime soon… or, rather, in this lifetime."<br>"Thank you" said the boy.  
>"What is your name, child?" Erik asked gently.<br>"Raphael. They call me Rafe, though."  
>"Raphael. A fitting name for one with the voice of an angel" Erik considered, still looking the boy over. "You must be starved. Sit." He motioned the boy to sit in one of the arm chairs set before the stone fireplace. " I'll bring you some bread and cheese. You're too young for wine, so I'll make you some tea to go with it."<p>

When he returned, the boy was asleep. Erik set the food on the table. And pondered what to do now that he had taken this urchin under his protection.

"Drat, the roses!" he had completely forgotten Christine's birthday. The flower seller knew Erik and his late night knock at his door usually meant a good day's wage, so, leaving the boy asleep, and knowing he wasn't likely to stray, he went and paid the flower stall a visit. The roses would be delivered early next morning. Erik also visited the haberdashery and estimating Raphael's size picked up some items of clothing and a sturdy pair of boots.

Back home, he found the boy still in the chair, and the food where it was. "It's alright for you to eat. All this food is for you." Erik told him while putting the packages down. The boy looked at Erik, warily,  
>"I never had such good food, all for myself. Eduardo only gave me scraps. Not fit for his dogs."<p>

"Those days are behind you. You can stay with me, keep the place clean, and I'll give you food and board. The opera house will be your school, you can learn a lot, here. Can you read and write?"  
>" Ginger, she was the wife of one of the other men, not much older than me, though, she taught me. I'm not that good, but I can make out most letters and words. "<br>"Good. Because I see potential in you. You have a beautiful voice and I will help train you how to use it correctly. One day, you will sing the leads in the major operas produced on the stage, above. Now, go take a bath. I will fill the tub for you and leave you fresh towels and …take this with you. These are for you". Erik left him to fill the tub in his bathroom. Then directed him towards it, and closed the door.  
>Sometime later, a little prince stood before him. And smiled.<p> 


End file.
